CHAPTER III--THE ROAD
My story being finished, and the Wassail too, we broke up as the
Cathedral bell struck Twelve. I did not take leave of my travellers
that night; for it had come into my head to reappear, in conjunction
with some hot coffee, at seven in the morning.
As I passed along the High Street, I heard the Waits at a distance,
and struck off to find them. They were playing near one of the old
gates of the City, at the corner of a wonderfully quaint row of red-
brick tenements, which the clarionet obligingly informed me were
inhabited by the Minor-Canons. They had odd little porches over the
doors, like sounding-boards over old pulpits; and I thought I should
like to see one of the Minor-Canons come out upon his top stop, and
favour us with a little Christmas discourse about the poor scholars
of Rochester; taking for his text the words of his Master relative
to the devouring of Widows' houses.
The clarionet was so communicative, and my inclinations were (as
they generally are) of so vagabond a tendency, that I accompanied
the Waits across an open green called the Vines, and assisted--in
the French sense--at the performance of two waltzes, two polkas, and
three Irish melodies, before I thought of my inn any more. However,
I returned to it then, and found a fiddle in the kitchen, and Ben,
the wall-eyed young man, and two chambermaids, circling round the
great deal table with the utmost animation.
I had a very bad night. It cannot have been owing to the turkey or
the beef,--and the Wassail is out of the question--but in every
endeavour that I made to get to sleep I failed most dismally. I was
never asleep; and in whatsoever unreasonable direction my mind
rambled, the effigy of Master Richard Watts perpetually embarrassed
it.
In a word, I only got out of the Worshipful Master Richard Watts's
way by getting out of bed in the dark at six o'clock, and tumbling,
as my custom is, into all the cold water that could be accumulated
for the purpose. The outer air was dull and cold enough in the
street, when I came down there; and the one candle in our supper-
room at Watts's Charity looked as pale in the burning as if it had
had a bad night too. But my Travellers had all slept soundly, and
they took to the hot coffee, and the piles of bread-and-butter,
which Ben had arranged like deals in a timber-yard, as kindly as I
could desire.
While it was yet scarcely daylight, we all came out into the street
together, and there shook hands. The widow took the little sailor
towards Chatham, where he was to find a steamboat for Sheerness; the
lawyer, with an extremely knowing look, went his own way, without
committing himself by announcing his intentions; two more struck off
by the cathedral and old castle for Maidstone; and the book-pedler
accompanied me over the bridge. As for me, I was going to walk by
Cobham Woods, as far upon my way to London as I fancied.
When I came to the stile and footpath by which I was to diverge from
the main road, I bade farewell to my last remaining Poor Traveller,
and pursued my way alone. And now the mists began to rise in the
most beautiful manner, and the sun to shine; and as I went on
through the bracing air, seeing the hoarfrost sparkle everywhere, I
felt as if all Nature shared in the joy of the great Birthday.
Going through the woods, the softness of my tread upon the mossy
ground and among the brown leaves enhanced the Christmas sacredness
by which I felt surrounded. As the whitened stems environed me, I
thought how the Founder of the time had never raised his benignant
hand, save to bless and heal, except in the case of one unconscious
tree. By Cobham Hall, I came to the village, and the churchyard
where the dead had been quietly buried, "in the sure and certain
hope" which Christmas time inspired. What children could I see at
play, and not be loving of, recalling who had loved them! No garden
that I passed was out of unison with the day, for I remembered that
the tomb was in a garden, and that "she, supposing him to be the
gardener," had said, "Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me
where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away." In time, the
distant river with the ships came full in view, and with it pictures
of the poor fishermen, mending their nets, who arose and followed
him,--of the teaching of the people from a ship pushed off a little
way from shore, by reason of the multitude,--of a majestic figure
walking on the water, in the loneliness of night. My very shadow on
the ground was eloquent of Christmas; for did not the people lay
their sick where the more shadows of the men who had heard and seen
him might fall as they passed along?
Thus Christmas begirt me, far and near, until I had come to
Blackheath, and had walked down the long vista of gnarled old trees
in Greenwich Park, and was being steam-rattled through the mists now
closing in once more, towards the lights of London. Brightly they
shone, but not so brightly as my own fire, and the brighter faces
around it, when we came together to celebrate the day. And there I
told of worthy Master Richard Watts, and of my supper with the Six
Poor Travellers who were neither Rogues nor Proctors, and from that
hour to this I have never seen one of them again.
